Wizardess of the Opera
by S.B.Wood
Summary: I'm a wizardess. While traveling in the astral plane, I made a serious mistake and wound up in 1800s Paris, where I met the Phantom of the Opera. This is what happened.
1. Chapter 1

I was dreaming, at first. But then I could _feel_ my body lift to the ceiling, and I grinned, elated by the sensation. I don't know why, but I flew out of the house and soared around town. I noticed a woman entering her house with groceries, and I zoomed down and inside. Part of me shrieked that she'd see me, but she didn't. I went to slam my fist down onto a table, but it went right through. A thrill went up my spine, and a mad grin spread across my face. I did it! After trying for so bloody long, I had entered the astral plane.

Yes, that's right, I'm an apprentice wizard. Self taught, you have no idea how hard _that_ is. I'd been researching different planes and how to reach them for some time. The astral plane was of interest to me because things that most people thought as magic-like flying, or shooting fireballs from your hands- was in fact only possible on another plane. Since they were also possible in dreams, I did some research and found it was possible to enter the astral plane through the world of Dreams, and a lot of people did, without ever realizing it. My challenge, then, was to do so _consciously._

I knew it wouldn't be too hard- I already had some experience in the Dreaming realm. From an early age, I had learned to control my dreams, change them, even while sleeping, with part of my mind knowing I was dreaming and what I was doing. So now I flew over cities, over oceans, and landed again outside a building filled with music. I closed my hazel eyes and willed myself to be solid again. And when I looked, I was. Damn, I was good.

I was so thrilled, I felt like singing. So I let loose with the high pitched, wordless song from Sleeping Beauty, right before she goes into the Once Upon a Dream song. And then, because I felt like it, I went ahead and sang that, too. By the time I was finished, I had attracted a small crowd. They applauded, and I curtsied, despite the fact that I was wearing cargo pants, boots, and a black tank top beneath a dark blue plaid flannel shirt. They were oddly dressed, now that I noticed. Like they were in the 1800s. One stepped forward and spoke to me.

"With a voice like that, you should be singing at the Opera," he said.

_In French._

My smile froze on my ivory face, and I spun around, eyes searching the skyline. Part of me was glad I chose French over Spanish as a second language in high school, but the larger part of me was slowly filling with dread, at the same time desperately trying to remain calm. Where was the Eiffel Tower?

"Sir," I replied in French, "If you please, could you tell me the year?"

He told me, and I nearly fainted. Something had gone terribly wrong. I had no clue how I had wound up in 19th century Paris, but I was in trouble if I couldn't find a way out. I spun around to face him and quickly got confirmation that the building pouring out music was the Opera, and they were having auditions today. I was told that the old star, Christine Daae, had run off with the old patron. I stared a him blankly as the name Christine Daae hit me like a frying pan to the face. Unbidden, a scene popped into my head.

_It's happening, everyone stay calm! What's the procedure? STAY FUCKING CALM!_

A giggle bubbled up from my throat, then I was laughing hysterically. I really had to stop watching crack videos. The man was staring at me like I had three heads, and I apologized profusely before sprinting off to the Opera. If I was going to be here for some time, I'd need shelter, food, and water to survive. Which mean money. Which meant a job. Why not here? I caught the managers just in time, as they were about to wrap up the auditions.

"And what will you be singing for us today?"

Unable to think of an aria that was around in this time period off the top of my head, I said, "It's of my own making, called Love Never Dies. Acapella, if you don't mind."

I didn't hate the musical, just the story line, and the fact that Erik was still mooning over Christine. I even really liked Ben Lewis as the Phantom. His voice was closest to what I imagined the real phantom sounded like, and I seemed to be the only person ever to dislike Crawford and Karimloo's voices. Few of the Christine actresses pleased me, as well. I'm very picky about this, obviously. All those nights staying up and singing in my room paid off. I sang for the managers, and long story short, I was given the lead role.

"You do seem a little strange, however," one said, eyeing my state of dress.

"I'm from America," I replied. Not a total lie. "I'm a fashion designer, too." That was a lie.

"Very well. Fleur here will show you to your rooms."

She wasn't very talkative, but that was fine. I had other things on my mind. I had no idea how my trip in the astral plane got so messed up, but I wasn't going to try to get back the same way. Who knew what would go wrong again, or where I'd end up.

"Your bedroom is here," Fleur said, bringing me out of my thoughts, "And your dressing room is connected. You know, we never got your name. Are all Americans so rude?"

"My name is Sarah," I responded, "And in case you didn't notice, I'm having a bit of a rough time here."

"Yes, a rough time," she said, smiling sweetly, "You waltz in here at the last minute and practically get _handed_ the lead role on a silver platter. You poor dear."

"You don't understand what I'm dealing with at the moment, so I'll forgive you for this."

"What I understand is you haven't even begun to pay your dues. Luckily, those that start at the top don't stay there long, so enjoy the limelight while it lasts."

She walked away, and I let her go, since the thought it was so important to have the last word. Shaking my head, I entered my room and closed the door behind me. This entire place was ridiculously lavish, and this room was no exception. I had a bed, armoire, vanity, and a desk. There was a bathroom was well, and I was pleased to note that indoor plumbing was included. That meant the toilet flushed, and there was running water that drained away. While historically speaking plumbing had been around for a while, it didn't gain widespread implementation until... I was in late 1800s Paris? Just recently, then. So they were probably proud and awed of this "new technology" in the Opera, but as I came here from the twenty first century, I was simply relieved to see something familiar that made my life easier.

But, as I also came here by way of the astral plane, the only physical things I had were on my person. Meaning my clothes. I had no other clothes, or toiletries, and I realized I'd really miss bare minerals makeup, adore me underwear sets, and Canes. Starting from scratch in a strange place and time wasn't going to be easy. But at least I knew the language and now had shelter and would eventually get money that came with the job, which would allow me to buy necessities like clothes, shoes, and soap. I wouldn't be needing candles, thankfully. Electric light had been installed in the Opera in 1881, and we were past that date. Since the Opera hadn't been completed until 1875, there was no way the events of the _Phantom of the Opera_ could have taken place before that year, anyway.

On the bright side, I was now in my dream job. As an added bonus, I would be working for the Phantom himself. There was no doubt in my mind that Erik was around here somewhere, if Christine had only recently left. As much as I wanted to poke around, I was forced to leave the Opera to search for basic hygiene equipment.

As I had no money, I'd have to discreetly exercise the skill wizards called conjury, street magic, sleight of hand. In short, I'd have to steal. This was way easier than when I stole at the mall when I was in high school, as the shops and stalls here had no security cameras. I made sure no one saw me pocket things by using my body to shield my hand movements, and ensured no one noticed me specifically by avoiding people's gazes. That was how I'd skipped half a school day in high school. At lunch, I'd just walk out the front gate with the other early release students, strolling calmly as if I had every right to be there. That was how I became invisible. Not by jumping up and down in the middle of a room, waving my arms and not being seen, but by becoming so inconspicuous that I wasn't noticed.

I'll never win an award for ethics.

By the time I got back to my room at the Opera, I had a comb, tooth brush and cleaning powder, soap for my face, and soap for my hair and body. I was sticking to the bare necessities until I got some money. _Look for the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities._ Most of the things I picked up went into the bathroom, and when I went to put the comb on the vanity table, I found a note already there. It had a red wax skull on it, and the sight made me freeze. It could only be from one person.


	2. Chapter 2

Grinning like a kid on Christmas, I squeed and did a tiny, excited dance over to the note. Hastily, I opened the note and read it eagerly.

_Greetings, _

_Welcome to my Opera. You have a marvelous voice and will do well here, so long as you abide by my rules. You must obey every command I give you, and you are not to venture down to the cellars. You will learn the rest as you go along._

_Your obedient servant, O.G_

I put the note in the drawer of my vanity, intending to hoard it and build a shrine to it later. Sleep did not come easy after that excitement. In the morning, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, combed and braided my hair, then dressed and rushed to the stage. The libretto was waiting for me, and I did my best to memorize it in between meeting the cast. After a while, everyone started to blend together. I was saved when rehearsals started. The chorus members were the only ones needed for the moment, so I sat by and went over the libretto in peace.

Just as I was needing a break, we all went down to the kitchens for lunch. These, I was told, were originally included for the parties often thrown at the Opera. As everyone chattered around me, I stayed silent, lost in my own musings.

"-have to find more staff, after that note the managers found."

Blinking, I sat up suddenly and looked around.

"Wait, what happened?" I asked.

"The managers found a note in their office, from the Phantom! He's back, and now I must replace five scene shifters!"

"What, he killed them?"

"No. Cowards ran off when they found out that bastard returned."

"Don't call him that," I snapped reflexively.

The man stared at me. "What?"

"Uh, I umm – that – that's a little rude, don't you think?"

"You weren't here before that Daae girl ran off," he answered, "You have no idea how rude he can be."

I opened my mouth to argue he was trying to run his theater so it could be the best it could be, and then I closed my mouth. Some versions of the story said he built the Opera, others claimed he was the true owner, still more reported he only grew up here. There were so many different versions, how was I to know the truth? What right did he really have to order people about and command such a salary?

"Does anyone know how to get in contact with him?" I asked instead.

"Hold a séance," a girl muttered, and laughter broke out among the cast and crew, turning my cheeks pink.

"You don't get in contact with the Phantom," the man I'd been talking to told me, "He gets in contact with _you_."

"Wait – has he contacted you?" the chorus girl asked me.

I ignored her and addressed the man again. "There must be _someone_ who has seen him," I pressed,

"Ah, I done told you – wait. Now that I think on it, there is one person. She don't see him, exactly, but she helps manage his affairs, sort of. Madame Giry, the box keeper. Talk to her, yeah?"

"Thank you," I murmured, dropping the subject and returning to my lunch, "I'll do that."

After we had our fill of food, it was back to work. The lead man, Gaspard, introduced himself to me. I hoped we would get along well, as we would be working together quite a bit. Luckily, Gaspard was a cheerful individual, who went out of his way to put me at ease. This he did by speaking to me in English.

"I hear you are from America, oui?"

"That's right," I smiled extending a hand, "My name is Sarah. It's nice to meet you. You can speak French with me if you like. I am competent enough."

"But you are more than that!" he exclaimed, still in English even though I spoke French, "Your accent is very good."

"Thank you. Your English is excellent."

He smiled. Taking my hand, he kissed the back of it instead of shaking it like I expected. I blushed at this, but he was kind enough not to tease me. We started by going through all of the songs, singing all of the libretto where our parts were. He was a very good tenor, and we sounded well together. As important as our relationship was, we had to have a good relationship with Gabriel, the conductor. The way the music flowed impacted the way we sang, the way we adjusted to tiny, minute details. After that, we did a little blocking, working out how we would move on stage. The day had been long and hard, but I was satisfied.

"You are new to Paris, no?" Gaspard asked. When I nodded, he continued, "You must let me take you to dinner!"

"Ah, I really shouldn't," I replied, "I've still got a lot of work to do."

Gaspard blinked. "What work?"

I held up the libretto. "I still have to memorize this. And I want to work on the singing more."

Gabriel's head snapped up, while Gaspard scratched his.

"But we have time," Gaspard coaxed, "Opening night is not for a while."

"I'd rather get it done now," I said firmly, "The sooner I get this memorized, get off book, get the libretto out of my hand, the sooner I can be more focused on what I'm doing."

Gabriel practically leaped onto the stage. The conductor ran over to me, grabbed my head, a hand on each side, and kissed me on both cheeks.

"You are a wonderful girl! The angels themselves sent you to me!" he babbled, "If I had more like you, I would be the happiest man in the whole world! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Bemused, I tried to get away from his hugging, but he let me go suddenly and rounded on Gaspard.

"You should work as hard! All of you! This is a job, no? Act like it! At least she does! My god, you all could learn something from her! No wonder she is so good!"

Gaspard stood there sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He endured the conductor's tirade, then spoke meekly when he was finished.

"I am sorry, Gabriel. She's crazy, what can I say? It's not my fault."

"Pah, crazy!" Gabriel glared at Gaspard and shook a finger furiously at him. "You're the ones that are crazy, taking no pride in your work! So lazy, shame on you!"

I snuck away to the kitchens while they carried on. I had a light dinner and went back to my room, where I spent the remainder of the night working. Sleep was easier tonight, and I woke the next morning refreshed, ready to start my third day in Paris. After getting ready and eating breakfast, I went in search of Madam Giry.

"Excuse me?" I said to her, "Can you manage a meeting for me with the phantom?"

Her eyes widened, and she began to walk away. "I'm sorry, I cannot help you."

"Wait!" I grabbed her arm and spoke quickly, "Please, it's important to me. Look, I know he gets his instructions to you. Could you at least pass along a letter from me?"

She stared at me like I had three heads. "No one has given a note to him before," she said.

"First time for everything."

"Very well. Write your letter."

I borrowed some pen and paper from the office nearby. I dipped the pen in ink, gathered my thoughts, and wrote,

_Monsieur Phantom,_

_My name is Sarah, and it's a pleasure to be in your Opera. I wonder if you would do me the honor of a personal visit in my dressing room one night? It is rather difficult to have a good conversation through only notes, and I think you'll find we have a few things to talk about._

I enclosed the paper in an envelope, sealed it with wax, and gave it to Madame Giry. Pleased, I went to rehearsals and spent the day working. Gaspard once more tried to get me to go to dinner, and once more, I refused him. I sat in my dressing room after dinner, reviewing the libretto. I was pretty sure I had it memorized by now, so tonight was just to be sure. When the sonorous baritone voice spoke, I jumped, not expecting him tonight, if at all.

"Mademoiselle, what is it you wished to speak to me about?"

I looked around, but there was no one in the room. It sounded like I was coming from all around, but I was wise to that trick, and knew he was hiding behind the mirror. And what a voice! Now I knew I had been right to be picky about the Phantom's voice, because I had never heard anything like this before. It was the king of voice you wanted to listen to all day, no matter what it spoke of, as long as it kept talking.

"Mademoiselle?"

Blushing, I smoothed my hands over my clothes. Funny how I had called him here, and now I was speechless!

"Sarah, please. Ah, what should I call you? It can't be monsieur phantom!"

There was a long pause. Then he said, "If I tell you, it must be known only to you."

"I promise."

"Erik."

I smiled. So that was right.

"You know, I feel funny talking to an empty room. Won't you come out?"

"No."

His tone was firm, and I knew I wasn't gong to change his mind tonight, so I let the subject drop for now.

"Alright. Well, you'll be pleased to know rehearsals are going smoothly."

"I see. Is that all?"

"No. It's occurred to me that you might need a friend, you being alone and all. I'm new to Paris, so I don't have anyone either."

"I... do not have friends. I am not certain I can..."

"We can try, can't we?"

"I suppose. If that is what you wish."

"It is. Thank you, Erik. I just wonder, if I need to reach you, and contacting you through Madame Giry will take too long, what am I to do?"

"Just call my name. I will hear you, no matter where you are in my Opera. Though do remember, it's to be kept a secret as much as possible. If you are not in immediate danger, do not call for me outside this room."

I blinked. "You would come for me, if I called to you for help?"

"Yes."

I flushed with pleasure. "Very well. Good night, Erik."

"Good night, Sarah."

As I laid down for sleep, my mind whirled with ideas to draw him out of the shadows. I'd have to be very careful, and it would take a while, but eventually, I would succeed. I believed him to be a good man, he only needed someone that would understand. I doubted Erik would fall in love with me, but even as a friend, I could show him some joy in life.


	3. Chapter 3

"Now what is wrong with this picture?"

I looked up and found Gaspard staring at me.

"Why does such a beauty frown? What's wrong?"

Shaking my head, I looked down and away from him.

"We all have our problems," he said, drawing me against his side and using his free hand to point at various members of the cast, "Emile is a gambler. Sabine's man left her, and took all the money she had saved, too. And Remy there, he's desperately trying to escape a life of crime that his family is pushing him into."

Stunned, I shook my head. A song popped into my head, and I sung a piece of it under my breath.

"Poor unfortunate souls. In pain, in need."

Gaspard sighed and let me go. "You know, I'm starting to think you really are crazy, Sarah."

"I prefer charmingly eccentric!" I shouted, spinning to face him and pointing a finger high in the air.

That got me a snort of laughter from him. But just like that, I was distracted all throughout rehearsals. I was a wizard, I could help them. But I'd need materials first, and I could barely help myself at the moment. For instance, I only had the one set of clothes that I wore on my back, with no money for laundering. I'd have to wash them in the bathtub, then let them dry overnight.

Over dinner, I asked Sabine and Colette to join me for a day out on Sunday, our first day off since rehearsals started. They agreed, and I hummed as I went off to my room. Washing my clothes in the bathtub was curst hard, but at least the water drained away. I filled it back up with hot water and then I washed myself, head to toe. The clothes wouldn't be dry until tomorrow, so I wrapped myself in a thin sheet from my bed, lacking a robe. I sat in my dressing room, singing to myself. In taking a breath between songs, a man's sonorous baritone filled the room.

"I know you claim to be a fashion designer, but I don't think wearing a sheet will catch on."

_Erik!_

I shrieked and jumped up, blushing furiously. I was certain he could see every curve and dip of my body, and the thought flustered me. His earthy chuckle at my reaction was wicked. Heat rushed straight between my legs, and I shifted my arms to cover my hardening nipples.

"I – I beg your pardon!" I stammered, "But I'm doing laundry today and I haven't a robe."

"Why ever not?"

"I came to Paris with only the clothes on my back," I said.

"I see," said Erik.

There was silence for a few minutes, and I wondered what he was thinking.

"Erik?" I prompted after a few minutes, thinking perhaps he had gone.

"My pardons, I was just contemplating your needs."

My mouth opened and closed a few times. Finally, I got out, "My needs have been met just fine, I assure you. I am surviving, after all."

"Perhaps," he replied, "But you are wanting things, I can tell."

"It isn't your responsibility to see that I get them," I protested, "I'll be paid soon, and I'm planning on going shopping on Sunday. You're my employer, Erik, these small trivialities are far beneath you."

"But not as a friend, and I am that as well."

I had nothing to say to that. Dare I hope he was growing fond of me, just a bit?

"What was that you were singing, by the way?" he asked, "I have never heard the like before."

Ah, blast. "Um, just a song," I said evasively.

"You compose?" he inquired, his tone interested.

"Oh no, I couldn't! I don't even know how to play an instrument."

"And who taught you to sing?"

"No one," I responded somberly, "My family was always too poor to pay for lessons. I learned by listening to others and mimicking the best I could."

"Ah, self taught."

I shrugged. "When left to your own devices, you learn quite a bit rather quickly. Such a person learns resourcefulness. But I suspect you know something about that."

He ignored my last bit of impertinence. "But what of your parents?"

"I told you I was alone here," I said, "They don't know."

"You ran away? Why? Were you mistreated?"

"No, not at all! I just... I didn't really mean to go. I just wanted to see the world. Now I wonder if I got more than I bargained for. Why all the questions?"

"Please forgive me, it's only... you remind me of someone."

Something twisted in my stomach. "Christine?" I asked, harsher than I intended.

"No," he said, sounding surprised, "You are nothing like her."

I winced, even though he probably didn't mean it as a slap in the face.

"Besides, what do you know of it?"

A thousand angry retorts sprung to my lips, but I bit them back. I couldn't afford an argument with Erik so soon after meeting him.

"Nothing," I said bitterly, "Good night, Erik"

I tossed and turned that night, irritably punching the pillow to a more desirable shape. I was so angry that he would continue to moon over a girl that left him, who wasn't right for him in the first place. That anger carried over to the next day, and into rehearsals. When I stepped into my dressing room that night, I froze at the sight that greeted me.

Trembling, I picked up the dressing gown and ran my fingers over it. The beautiful white garment was exactly like Christine's dressing gown. Except this was no cheap stage prop. It was velvet, long enough for a small train, elbow length sleeves, with lace on the hems.

"Do you like it?"

My hazel eyes were brimming with tears. "Oh, Erik. Did this belong to Christine?"

"No. I had it made for you. Why do you ask?"

I shook my head. "I … I can't accept this. It's too fine."

"It's a gift."

"But I – "

"No. You need it."

"Something simpler would have sufficed..."

"I won't hear of it. And I expect you to wear it."

I bowed my head. "Yes, Erik."

"I don't know what I said to upset you last night..."

"I'm just no fan of Miss Daae," I said ruefully.

Bloody hell, I wish I could tell him. Befriending him wasn't going to be easy, he was so wary of the world, more so now that Christine was gone. How was I ever going to manage this?

"Did you really build this opera?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Yes. Where did you hear that?"

"Oh, just around. Rumors, you know. You're quite a mysterious figure around here."

"As I should be."

"Hmm. Well, I think we should get to know each other a bit more, if we're to be friends. Let's see, you already know a bit of why I'm here, my past in America. How about some little details, to fill in the blanks and add color to character?"

"What sort of details?"

"Well, my favorite color is dark blue, like the ocean. My favorite flower is a red rose. It's a classic, rather old fashioned, like me. Beautiful, romantic... I love seafood. I'm from New Orleans, you know. I enjoy sushi too, and chocolate. Very dark chocolate. Oh, and reading. I love to read. I'm an animal lover, as I think they're better than humans. Do you own a cat, Erik?"

"What? No, whatever for?"

"Hmm, good point, I'm more of a dog person myself," I joked half seriously, to hide the real reason for the question.

Bit by bit, I was piecing together the Erik I was dealing with.

"You know Erik, I've been thinking. It's good to get out of this place every once in a while. A few of the girls and I are going out on Sunday, would you come that afternoon with me? We could have a picnic together. Wouldn't that be nice? Fresh air, sunshine-"

"No," Erik interrupted, "That would not be nice at all."

I pursed my lips. Stubborn man. Was _no_ his favorite word or something?

_My name is "no", my sign is "no", my number is "no",_ the lyrics blasted in my head. Scowling, I shouted to myself, _Quit it!_

"Fine," I said evenly, "Then it's your turn to reveal information about yourself."

"Actually, I have to leave now. Things to arrange... goodnight, Sarah."

"Wait, what? You – Erik? Erik!"

There was no answer. Oh, that man! There was nothing to do but go to bed, so that is what I did. At breakfast the next morning, I was pleased to find croissants and butter. I was happily slathering the former with the latter when I heard Fleur further down the table.

"I don't know why Gabriel is having such a conniption over her. If you ask me, our supposed star is nothing but a freak."

Beside me, Gaspard looked up and opened his mouth to speak, but paused when I grabbed his wrist. He looked at me, and I shook my head.

"Leave it," I told him.

"But what she says!" he protested, "You heard it!"

"I heard a fart," I said grimly, "You know where those come from. Just leave it."

"But -"

"Hey, the best revenge is living well."

I took a bite of the buttered croissant, then pointed at myself and spoke with a full mouth. "See? Living well, my revenge is complete. This really is very good. Mmm, I love food. You should have some."

About a week into rehearsals, and there were still a few bumps in the road, but over all things were going well. It was late afternoon when a shrill scream interrupted the proceedings. Fleur came running onto the stage, her hair had turned dark blue.

"You did this, you little bitch!" she shrieked at me, "You better undo this!"

"I had nothing to do with it," I said over the laughs of the onlookers, "I can't help you if I don't know how it was done, I might accidentally make it worse. Might I suggest a wig?"

Fleur shouted in outrage, then ran off sobbing, humiliated.

"Who's the freak now, eh?" Gaspard called after her, chortling.

I frowned. "Did you have something to do with this?"

Still laughing, he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "No, but I wish I did! About time she got a little back that she gives out!"

After everyone stopped laughing, we wrapped up rehearsals. I ate a quick dinner, then went straight to my dressing room.

"Erik," I said sternly, "Come on, I know you're there. You did that to Fleur."

"Yes."

"Well from now on, you must let me fight my own battles."

"But you weren't."

"I was. No one can attack forever. Eventually they'll run out of energy."

"You defended me."

After a second, I remembered the man complaining about scene shifters, how I refused to let him call Erik a bastard. I blushed and murmured, "That was different. You're my friend."

"So what you're telling me is that anyone may say whatever they like about you, but not one of your friends?"

"Yes. I suppose that's right."

"You are very strange, Sarah."

I smiled and shook my head. "Oh, Erik... You have no idea."


End file.
